


A Different Kind Of Darkness

by deanstrenchcoatangel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Demon Dean Winchester, Demon!Dean, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-22
Updated: 2014-12-21
Packaged: 2018-01-26 04:19:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1674455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deanstrenchcoatangel/pseuds/deanstrenchcoatangel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean knew, from the moment he opened his eyes, something was wrong. There was something dark inside him, he could feel it. Worse than the effects of the Mark, although those lingered as well. Confusion struck him as he remembered the events of the evening. He had died.. He had been stabbed by Metatron, he knew that much. He remembered uttering his last words to Sam and everything going black. He had died. So why was he here in the bunker? </p><p>***</p><p>Picks up after 9.23 when Dean wakes up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Black is the New Green

**Author's Note:**

> I really hope you guys enjoy this! Kudos and comments are appreciated.

Dean knew, from the moment he opened his eyes, something was wrong. There was something dark inside him, he could feel it. Worse than the effects of the Mark, although those lingered as well. Confusion struck him as he remembered the events of the evening. He had died.. He had been stabbed by Metatron, he knew that much. He remembered uttering his last words to Sam and everything going black. He _had_ died.

So why was he here in the bunker? A look to the far side of the room quenched his curiosity. “Crowley.” He snarled, anger coursing through his veins like a current of power and emotion. “Whatever Sam did, you better undo it.”

Crowley gave him a malicious smile. “ _I_ didn’t do anything. Your friend over there did.”

Dean looked down to see the Blade clutched tightly in his grip. He flung it away. “What do you mean?”

Crowley sighed. “Cain was once human. When he realized what the Blade was doing to him.. He took his own life, rather than be the killer it wanted him to be.” He gave Dean a pointed look. “Sound familiar?”

Dean felt his unbeating heart plummet to his stomach. “But.. Cain’s a demon now.. And..” He flew up, running to the bathroom. Sure enough, when he met his own eyes in the mirror, they were no longer the emerald orbs, flecked with gold and sunlight. They were as black as the darkness slowly consuming him. “No. No. You fix this.” He growled in Crowley’s direction.

“I can’t.” The room around them shook with the force of an earthquake, and for a moment, Dean almost lost his balance. “Moose is trying to summon me. Probably wants to do another trade of the souls, eh?” He turned to the door. “Coming, Squirrel?”

Dean followed, however reluctantly. They arrived in the dungeon, where Sam sat, the smell of despair and whiskey tainting the air around them. “You _will_ fix this Crowley. Or so help me, God.” He spoke more to himself than anyone, unaware of the demon-er,  _demons_ , in the room.

“Hello, Moose.” Sam jumped, obvious to their earlier entrance. He hadn’t noticed Dean yet, and he was thankful. He knew his eyes still glowed black, and the last thing he wanted was for Sam to see them.

“You did this to him.” Sam growled. “Bring. Him. Back.”

“It’s a little late for that.” Crowley’s hand lifted, as he gestured to Dean.

“Dean.” The sound was barely audible, a nearly silent breath. Before he knew what was happening, his gargantuan of a little brother was wrapping his arms around him, burying his head in his older brother’s neck.

“It’s okay.” Dean said softly, patting his brother’s back. Confusion tugged at the back of his mind. Demons didn’t care whether their little brother was okay or not. A demon would have slit his throat, without even a second thought. So why wasn’t Dean?

Sam pulled back, and for the first time, he noticed the shade of his brother’s eyes. He stumbled away. “Dean? What the heck?”

“It’s okay, Sammy.” He said softly. “It’s still me.”

“You’re a.. You’re a..” Fear arose in his features, and Dean could feel his heart plummet. Hatred, revulsion, he could have dealt with. But this… Fear… It killed him.

“Sammy.. I swear.. It’s still me.” Dean’s voice was pleading, and once again, he was struck with how strange of a demon he was.

“How?” The fear began to ebb away, still there, and still blatant, but to a lesser degree.

“It was the Mark.”

Anger flickered in Sam’s eyes, and he was shoving Crowley against the wall, snarling into his shocked face. “This is all your fault. If _you_ hadn’t tricked him into getting that stupid thing, this never would’ve happened!”

It took a while, but Dean pried him away, calming him the best he could. Three hours later, they sat in the kitchen, the two of them, Crowley long since disappeared. “We’re going to work this out.” He promised.

“Okay,” was all that left Sam’s mouth.

They would figure this out. They _would._ Right?


	2. Time Gone By

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Sam work on curing Dean's 'affliction'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry it has taken months to put this chapter out! I got so caught up in my other fic, Just Like That, and almost forgot about this one. I'm hoping to write the next chapter or so today, and maybe wrap this fic up soon... We will see. Anyway, I love to hear feedback, and I hope you enjoy this chapter.

Dean could remember the details of his death excruciatingly well. He could still remember the tearing of his flesh as Metatron forced his angel blade through Dean’s chest.

He remembered gasping for breath, but feeling like it was just out of reach. And then there was Sammy, running towards him, screaming all the way. When he tried hard enough, he could still feel the cold hands gripping his face, pleading with him to just hang on.

His mouth remembered saying, “I’m proud of us.” His eyes remembered closing, still green. His ears remembered Sam’s sobs, echoing off of the night air around them. And then there was nothing. Just black, all around him. Nothing but the darkness slowly consuming him.

Dean had died, and he was supposed to stay that way. But, given the _unusual_ circumstances that were Dean Winchester, he had awoken; this time as a demon. He could still picture the sneer of Crowley’s face, just barely hiding the joy that lingered there. He could still imagine the fear on Sam’s face as he saw the monster his brother had become.  

But it had been days since then. He had finally learned to switch his eyes from black to green, and vice versa, although he tried to keep them green for Sam’s sake. Sam, meanwhile, was trying to cure Dean.

He had already been practicing the incantations, getting blood from local blood banks, and was getting the chains ready. Dean had complained, but Sam thought it was best to have them, just in case.

Dean knew there was a chance the cure wouldn’t work. It was meant for simple demons, not knights of hell. They had no way of knowing what the cure would do to Dean. They didn’t know whether he would be cured, whether he would stay a demon or if it would just kill him.

Though Dean would never admit it to Sam, he didn’t care which way it fell. If he was cured, fine. If he stayed a demon, whatever. If he died, good. And although he didn’t want to admit it, he knew just why that was.

Before he had died, Metatron had been taunting him with the knowledge that Castiel had been captured. He had promised that when he returned to heaven, he would torture and kill one of the only people Dean had left.

So Dean had fought. He had fought up until the moment Metatron sank that blade into his heart, not-so-effectively stopping it. And then he had died, all the while knowing Castiel would soon follow.

By now, Dean thought, Castiel was probably long gone. It had been almost a week, after all. With Castiel gone, Dean just didn’t have the strength to go on. He had suffered through losing Cas before, and he hadn’t ever wanted to go through it again.

Yet there he was, sitting on the edge of his bed, drowning his sorrows in a bottle of whiskey. Although the alcohol no longer did anything to take the edge off, he still enjoyed the sentiment.

“Hey, Dean?” Sam’s voice pulled Dean from his thoughts. “I have everything set up, if you’re ready.”

“Then let’s go.” Setting down the bottle, he followed Sam through the bunker until they got to the dungeon, where Sam had gotten everything ready. Dean slid into the seat, allowing himself to be chained in.

“Are those too tight?” Sam asked, fiddling with the locks.

“They’re fine.” Dean said, his voice monotonous. The pain they caused was nothing to him now that he was a demon.

Sam nodded slowly. “Then let’s do this.” He dug through the bags of blood, pulling out one and filling a syringe with it. “Hold still.” He said, before plunging the needle in Dean’s neck.

A scream ripped its way from his throat, and he pulled against the bonds holding him. Baring his teeth, another strangled cry pulled free. Each drop of blood felt like lava, ripping him open from the inside out. It felt like hours before the blood finally cooled in his veins, and he relaxed against the chair.

“Dean?” Sam’s voice sounded small, almost child-like.

“‘M fine, Sammy.” He said through gritted teeth. And what a lie that was. Although the initial pain had faded, there was a different burning in his veins. It was like the demonic power was fighting against the cure, fighting against _him_. It was as though the fight or flight response had kicked in, and this body wanted to do both. Half of him was trying to fight himself, while the other half just wanted to _go_. He didn’t care where, he just needed to get away. But he couldn’t do that. Not if he wanted this cure to work.

Sam nodded. “One down, seven to go.” The watch on his wrist told him they still had fifty-seven minutes. “Do you want me to stay with you, or just come back in an hour?”

Truthfully, Dean wanted to be alone. He didn’t Sam to see him like this, vulnerable, yet still a monster. Yet, he knew if Sam left, he would be tempted to find a way out, a way to get away from the cure. So he did what he had to. “Stay. Please.” The words sounded slightly strangled, as though they had been forced out against his will.

“Okay. Sure.” Sam settled into the chair opposite Dean. “You’re going to make it through this, Dean. I can just feel it.”

“If you say so.” Dean almost wanted to laugh at the prospect of him ‘making it through this’. Just because they cured the blatant monster, didn’t mean they had fixed the one that lurked underneath.

Sam looked at Dean sadly for a moment. “I’m sorry, you know.”

“For what?” Dean asked, furrowing his brow.

“I’m the one who told Cas he had to go up to heaven with Gadreel. I’m the reason he, uh.. you know.” He rubbed his hands on his pants. “And I’m sorry for that.”

Dean didn’t meet Sam’s gaze. The _last_ thing he wanted was to talk about losing Cas. “It’s fine.”

“No, Dean, it’s not.” He just shook his head. “How could losing someone you love be _fine_?”

The older Winchester gritted his teeth. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I don’t?” Sam sounded almost indignant. “I’ve seen the way you look at him, Dean. It’s pretty obvious how you feel about him.”

“Get out.” Dean said through clenched teeth.

“No, Dea-”

“Sam. If you don’t get the hell out of here now, I will be tempted to rip your head off. And eat it.”

“Fine.” He stood, glancing at his watch. “I’ll be back in… forty-two minutes.” And then he walked out of the room, leaving Dean alone with his thoughts.

How _did_ he feel about Cas? There had always been something between them, he couldn’t deny that. It was like Castiel had once said, they had a more _profound_ bond. But love? Dean had never really _loved_  someone like that before. Sure, he had cared about Lisa… But that was built out of necessity, of desperation.

He wasn’t sure that he had ever really felt in love with Lisa. It was different with Cas, though. He had always felt lighter, more comfortable with Cas, no matter the situation. He thought about the years before, when Castiel had been working with Crowley. He could still remember the sting of that betrayal. He had wanted to believe in Cas so badly, despite all the evidence to the contrary.

What had made him so blind? Was it their friendship? Or something more? Thinking about Cas hurt. Like, really hurt. He just kept imagining Cas dying, over and over. Had he suffered? Was he really gone?

Dean knew that Metatron had gotten away from him and Sam, though he prayed that Cas and Gadreel might have managed to somehow kill him. He hoped that Castiel had gotten away. He hoped with all his heart.

For the first time in a long time, Dean Winchester prayed. “Heya, Cas. Look, I don’t know if you can hear me. Hell, I don’t even know if you’re still alive. But, if you are… I need you here, man. Just come to the bunker, okay? Please, Cas. I need to know if you’re alive.”


	3. Angels Were Never Meant To Feel This Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We jump back to Castiel right after Dean's supposed death all the way up to current time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry it had been so long since I updated! I'm currently working on a brand-new fic, plus I have been super busy lately with school and things. I'm hoping that since this week is my last in school before winter break, I will have some more time to write soon. Anyway, I'm really excited to hear what you all think of this chapter. Read on! 
> 
> P.S. if anyone wants to draw art of this fic, I totally give you permission ;)

_"Well guess what? He’s dead, too.”_ It had been hours since Castiel had first heard those words, and yet he could still feel them at the core of his soul. After leaving Metatron for Hannah to take care of, he had returned to the angel’s office.

The bloody angel blade lay on the floor where Metatron had dropped it. It took Cas a second to realize that was _Dean’s_ blood. A cry ripped itself from his throat as everything came crashing down on him.

Dean was dead. After everything was said and done, Castiel had lost the one thing he had fought so hard for. After saving Dean from Hell, after rebelling from Heaven for Dean, after falling for Dean in more ways than one.... He was just gone. Castiel felt as though a piece of himself had been ripped out.

The angel picked up the blade and gripped it tightly in his palm, blood dripping unceremoniously from the other end. He found himself frozen, his eyes unable to cast themselves away from the angel blade. Tears slid down his nose, falling to the ground with a soft plunk. “Castiel?” Hannah’s voice cut through his stupor.

He dropped the blade from his hand as though he had been burned. “Yes?”

“Metatron has been locked up, Castiel. He won’t ever be getting out of there.”

At first, Castiel had believed that these words would be the key to making things better. It was only now, as he really let them sink in, that he realized it changed nothing. Dean was gone, and Metatron being in jail wouldn’t change that. “Very well. Thank you for your service, Hannah.” His voice was even more raspy than usual, though he couldn’t tell if it was from the crying, or his fading grace. For reasons he couldn’t quite grasp, he found that he couldn’t make himself face Hannah. He wasn’t able to look in her eyes and be the strong leader he was supposed to be, not yet.

“Are you alright, Castiel?” Hannah seemed genuinely concerned.

He found that he lying was easier than the truth in times like these. “I’m fine.”

Although her head was nodding, she obviously didn’t believe him. “You need to replenish your grace, Castiel. Without it… You’ll die.”

For once, that option didn’t seem that terrible to Castiel.

***

After Castiel left Heaven, he found himself without any real direction. Sure, he could have gone to the bunker. Maybe he should have. Sam was no doubt in pieces after his older brother’s death, but Castiel couldn’t bring himself to console the youngest Winchester.

Maybe it was because he knew that if he went to the bunker, he would have to see Dean’s body. He would enter the same room that was one filled with Dean’s things. He would look toward the body that lay lifelessly on Dean’s bed. The very thought of those beautiful green eyes lacking the life they once held felt like a stab to Castiel’s gut.

Castiel knew that Sam would be holding a hunter’s funeral for Dean, and that thought was even worse than the one before. He imagined standing in the middle of some field somewhere, a large wooden pyre before himself, knowing that the man he once pulled from Hell was burning right in front of him and he was powerless to stop it.

Without any warning, a sob was released from his throat and tears began to fall fast. “I’m so sorry, Dean.” He whispered. “I failed you.” His legs gave way and he collapsed onto the ground beneath him. _No wonder humans are a mess,_ he thought. _If this is what it feels like to lose someone._

***

Castiel spent quite some time just going from one hotel to another. With his grace fading, he was getting weaker and weaker, and nothing seemed to help. In a moment of desperation, Castiel had tried to eat. Before, when he was temporarily human, he had enjoyed eating. He had needed to eat, and he found that he actually like the taste and feel of eating. When he became an angel again, he had tried eating, though it hadn’t held the same pleasure. All the same, he had kept the food down with no struggle. This time, however, it wasted no time before coming right back up.

It had left him feeling weaker than before. He had spent most of his time lying in bed, unable to move for fear of the pain and dizziness that would surely follow. With no distractions but constant pain, Castiel had spent a lot of time with Dean on his mind.

He had allowed himself to think Dean’s death in detail only once, but it had been terrible all the same. So many specifics were missing that Castiel was left with more questions than before. Had Dean suffered? Did it happen in one quick stab, or had Metatron drug it out? Where was Sam when Dean was being killed?

After a while, the pain had become so great that he had made himself think of something else. Something that should have been happy. He closed his eyes and imagined a future with Dean. Images of a little house with a picket fence and a beautiful garden came to mind. Dean was standing in the yard, wearing loose fitting jeans and a green Henley, a little girl with bright green eyes and raven-colored hair in his arms. The little girl was waving frantically, yelling “PAPA!” and Dean was smiling that smile that travelled all the way to his eyes and beyond.

He imagined walking through their gate and up to Dean, the former hunter pressing their lips as their daughter squealed. “How was your day?” Imaginary Dean asked.

“Better now.” Fake Castiel answered. Together, all three of them walked into the house, where Dean had dinner waiting on the table.

Back in reality, Castiel forced his eyes open. With it, reality came crashing down around him, and he realized Dean was really gone. He was almost surprised that he felt more terrible than before. “We could have been so great together, Dean. I’m so sorry I failed you.”

***

After about a week, Sam had called Castiel. Out of shame, Castiel hadn’t answered. Perhaps he should have. He fell into a deep sleep, only waking when he felt a familiar pull in his mind, which could only mean one thing. Someone was praying to him; not just any angel, but him.

Although it sent pain spiralling through him, he allowed the prayer through, and listened hard. The pain was worth it, he realized, as he heard the smooth sound of a familiar voice. “Heya, Cas. Look, I don’t know if you can hear me. Hell, I don’t even know if you’re still alive. But, if you are… I need you here, man. Just come to the bunker, okay? Please, Cas. I need to know if you’re alive.”

 _Dean_. Castiel had barely gotten the thought out before he was running. His body was rebelling against him, fighting for him to just give in and die, but he wasn’t ready to die just yet. Dean needed him, and he was determined to do this one thing right. Castiel may not have had his wings anymore, but he had his pimpmobile, and as long as it was able to bring him to Dean, it was perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me on tumblr at hisfallencastiel.tumblr.com  
> :)


	4. What's The Point In Living When You're Already Dead?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is still getting cured. He has a dream about his could-have-been future with Cas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoy this chapter! I'm excited to hear what you guys think!   
> P.S. I respond to all comments, and I love hearing from you all! Also, feel free to draw any art for this and I will love you forever if you do. 
> 
> ~Ok that's all for now, so enjoy!~

By his seventh treatment, Dean had begun to wonder if the cure was helping, or if it was doing the world a favor by taking him out. His heart had started to beat again, very slowly, though the blood it was pumping felt more like hot acid than actual blood.

His whole body sagged against the chair which was hardly keeping him sitting up. The chains pulled and tugged at his wrists and ankles, far too tight for comfort; yet he kept them on without any complaint. _Penance_ , he thought. _For letting this happen. For putting Sam through this. For becoming the very thing my father hated more than anything._

After returning for Dean’s second treatment, Sam had stayed with him through the rest. Dean had protested at first, but after Sam promised not to bring up Cas, he had been allowed to stay. However, almost ten minutes after session seven, Sam broke his promise. “I know you don’t want to talk about him, but I think you should.”

Dean could barely hold his eyes open, let alone keep up his usual defensive stance. “No,” he mumbled half-heartedly.

“Look, Dean, I know you don’t want to hear it but I know that you felt something for Cas. Something more than you really want people to know. And it’s okay. I saw the way you looked at him, Dean. It was the way I used to look at Jess.” He sighed while searching Dean’s face. “It was love.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he said softly. “He’s… gone.” Every word he spoke felt made him feel as though he were running a marathon. Or two. The pain that talking about Cas caused was worse than the feeling of dying. though they certainly felt similar.

Sam gave him a sad look. “We don’t know that for sure…” He said faintly.

“I-I prayed to him,” he took a deep breath. “He never came.”

“I’m so sorry, Dean.” Sam came to sit beside Dean, and patted his hand consolingly.

With his green eyes closing slowly, a tear leaked out. “He never came.”

***

_The house was covered in white paint, slightly chipped near the places where the gutter was slightly out of place and falling. Perfectly trimmed grass formed their yard, a small but well managed garden along the edge of the long porch wrapped around their house. Two rocking chairs sat on one end of the porch overlooking the garden, one light blue with a green C and one vibrant green with a blue D._

_In the green one, sat Dean, his hair slightly shorter, but his smile certainly larger. He wore a faded ACDC shirt and flannel pajama pants. The second chair was the blue, and was occupied by none other than Castiel, who wore no shirt, but a navy blue robe and flannel pajama pants identical to Dean’s._

_The two men were staring at the rising sun, a table with two coffee cups between them. “Was it worth it?” Dean asked softly, his eyes sliding over to Cas, his face looking slightly more serious._

_The other man frowned slightly, the area between his eyebrows creasing. “I certainly miss the extra sleep, but it is quite beautiful.”_

_“No... I mean,” Dean took a deep breath. “Giving up your Grace for me. Becoming an human so we could be together.” His green eyes looked out towards the sunrise again, as though he were embarrassed to be asking._

_Castiel was silent for a moment as he thought. “Sometimes I really miss my power,” he admitted. Dean sucked in a small breath. “I would be lying if I said I didn’t. But I love you, Dean. Being human with you means far more to me than all those angelic years alone.” He reached out to guide Dean’s face towards him once more. “To answer your question, yes. Any moment with you is worth any hundred years as an angel. You were worth my Grace and more, Dean Winchester.”_

_The former hunter took Castiel’s hand. “Then I don’t feel bad asking this.” He slid onto the porch in front of his not-so-angelic angel. “Cas, we’ve been through a hell of a lot together.” He cringed softly at his terrible word choice. “Including actual Hell. But I love you. I’m not scared to say it anymore, and I want to spend the rest of my life proving it.” He pulled the small silver band from his robe pocket and Castiel let out a small noise. Tears were building up in his bright blue eyes. “Castiel… Will you marry me?”_

_Cas pulled him up and into a kiss. “You’re an idiot, Dean Winchester.”_

_“Is that a yes?”_

_“Yes.”_

***

Dean’s eyes opened with tears starting to form. After realizing he couldn’t exactly wipe them away with his cuffs on, he tried his hardest to blink them away before Sam saw. That’s when he realized Sam wasn’t in the room. “Sam?” He croaked, but he knew there was no way his brother would hear, no matter how close he was.

With no clock or watch or means to tell the time, he resigned himself to waiting in the dark lighting of the room. _Wait_. he thought suddenly. _Why is it so dark?_ That was about the time that he realized his eyes were in demon-form, pitch black, and he didn’t have the strength to turn them back to green.

When he had first become a demon, he realized that when you were looking through ‘demon-vision’ with black eyes, everything was a little darker. It had always felt like he was looking through a black lens. He had yet to figure out if it was a standard demon thing, or a knight of hell thing, or just a demon!Dean Winchester thing.

Voices from outside the door snapped Dean away from his thoughts. “Why is he down here?” Voice one asked, each syllable a stab to Dean’s gut. That roughness, that gravelly sound; it could have only belonged to one person.

“There’s something you don’t know,” Sam answered. Dean’s ears were scrambling for any clue that he was right about the first voice’s owner. Sam sighed, “Cas.” And just like that, Dean’s ears found the clue they were looking for.

 

 


	5. The Final Treatment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It time for Dean's last injection, Cas sees Dean again, and Sam starts to get cold feet.

“There’s something you don’t know, Cas.” Sam’s face was paler than Cas had seen in a long time, and there were dark circles under his eyes. The angel decided not to address it at the current time.

“What is it, Sam?” Cas asked, coming off as more impatient than he had intended. He had driven hour after hour to reach the Winchesters, despite his increasingly worrying state. Castiel knew he didn’t have long, and he was determined to see Dean before he died.

The younger Winchester wouldn’t meet Castiel’s eyes, a look of deep pain holding a place in his own. “Metatron killed him, Cas. He died.”

Castiel shook his head, though it sent sparks of pain throughout his body. “I heard his prayer, Sam. Clearly he’s alive.”

“That’s because the Mark brought him back.”

“Remind me to send it a thank-you letter,” he said, trying to walk past Sam into the room where Dean was.

Sam stuck out his arm to grab Cas just before the angel could open the door. “You know what he is, Cas. You know what he’s become, don’t you?”

“It doesn’t matter.” He said softly. “He’s still Dean.”

The other man guided him away from the door, just to make sure Dean couldn’t hear. “I’m trying to cure him, but… I don’t think it’s working. I think it’s killing him.”

“What?” Castiel let out a slow breath. “You have to stop.”

“Don’t you think I _want to_?” Sam shook his head. “But it’s up to Dean. If I know my brother, and I do… He won’t want to stop.”

“Then we make him.”

“It’s not that easy, Cas.”

“Why the hell not?” Castiel snapped. “He doesn’t deserve to die, Sam. He doesn’t deserve half the crap that he got dumped onto him, and he doesn’t deserve this.”

The taller man placed a calming hand on the angel’s shoulder, and he leaned into it for support. He was getting so much weaker by the second. “I know, Cas, I know. But he does deserve to choose. We at least owe him that.”

“I can’t lose him again.” Castiel whispered.

Sam nodded softly. “I know. I-I don’t want to lose him either, Cas, but we have to believe that he will fight this. We have to believe Dean can win.” Cas couldn’t talk, so he simply nodded. “It’s time for his last dose. You coming with?”

Cas nodded once more. “Of course.”

The two men went back down the hallway, stopping outside of the door to the dungeon. “You sure about this?” Sam asked.

“Never been more sure.” He lowered his voice slightly. “If this is really when I lose him, I need to say goodbye. I never got that chance before.”

Sam nodded before sliding the door open and allowing Cas to see Dean for the first time since his death. “Cas?” Dean croaked, his voice broken and scared.

Castiel made his way further into the room and saw the man. His eyes were as black as the night surrounding the bunker. Cas longed for the sight of Dean’s warm green eyes. “Hello Dean.”

“I-I thought-” The man broke out into a fit of coughs, deep hacking ones that brought up blood. “I thought you were d-dead.”

The angel moved so that he was standing beside Dean’s side. “And I thought _you_ were dead.”

“We’re-” _cough_ “quite a pair, aren’t we?” _cough cough._ Dean winced as another cough ripped itself from his lips.

“You look like hell.” Castiel said quietly. He winced at his poor word choice.

The other man chose not to comment on said terrible word choice. “You’re one to talk.” Dean said, nodding his head at Cas. As he did, his chains pulled tight, inducing yet another fit of coughs. “You need to replenish your-” _cough_ “Grace.”

Cas simply nodded. He had to admit that now that he knew Dean was alive, somewhat, he still wanted to live. The angel wanted his ‘apple pie life’ with Dean, or as close as they could get. Still, he knew it was a bit of a stretch. “I will.” He promised.

A small smile spread itself across Dean’s face. “Good.”

Their eyes remained on each other’s for several unbroken moments. Cas found that if he stared hard enough, he could still see those shining green eyes right under the surface. “Hey, guys?” Sam’s voice broke them from their spell. The man stared awkwardly between them, and he held up the very last dosage of blood.

Dean’s body gave an involuntary spasm at the sight of it, leaving his hands shaking, and fear in his eyes. Cas took his hand without thinking. “It’s going to be okay, Dean. I promise.”

“Just don’t leave. Okay?” Dean pleaded.

“I won’t. I’m not going to leave this time.” The Winchester nodded before tilting his head for Sam.

Large hands paused beside Dean’s neck, poised to plunge the needle in, but reluctant. “Dean… We don’t know if this will cure you. What if it… What if it ki-”

“Sam.” Dean’s voice was broken and raspy, yet the desperation was still blatantly there. “Sam, please. I can’t be a monster. I can’t-” Bloody coughs ripped their way free, but he kept going. If these were his last moments, he was going to make them worth it, damn it. “I can’t be a demon, Sammy. I would rather die.”

“ _What about us_?” Sam asked, looking so young and innocent that it killed Dean. Although he may have seemed ready to let Dean go before, it seemed that when it came to actually _letting him go_ , he couldn't do it.  “What am I supposed to do without my big brother, huh?”

Black eyes darted from blue ones to brown. “You’ll be okay,” he whispered. “You’ll keep going. The family business and all that.” He tried to give a smile, but it ended up looking like nothing more than a weak and painful grimace.

“We need you here. I need you here.” Sam had dropped the needle by now, leaving it somewhere on the ground beside Dean’s chair. He was leaning against the chair, hands planted on the arm.

Dean closed his eyes, resting his head on the back of the chair. He was feeling so weak, so tired. “You never needed me, Sam. Not really. No one did.” With all the strength he could muster, he wrapped his free hand around Sam’s. “Please, Sam. I failed Dad so many times over the years, and this,” _cough_ , “this is how I make it up to him. This is how I make it up to you.”

“You know that’s not true, Dean.” Sam said softly. “You were the best brother I could have ever asked for. You know Dad was proud of you, right?” His eyes searched Dean’s desperately.

“Sure, Sam.” Dean murmured, though he clearly didn’t believe him.

“Dean-”

“I’m ready, Sammy. I’m ready for the last dose.” He released his brother’s hand, tilting his neck so that Sam could get to it with ease. His eyes fell on Cas. “I guess this is it, huh, Cas?”

“No.” Cas said firmly. “You’re going to be fine, Dean.”

A small smile found its way onto Dean’s lips. “No dramatic goodbyes then, I guess?”

The angel shook his head. “Just some semi-dramatic see-you-laters.” Cas gave Dean’s hand a tight squeeze. “Dean, you better make it through this because if you don’t…”

“You’ll bring me back to life just to kill me again?” He suggested.

“Exactly.” The angel’s eyes softened as Sam held up the needle. “Here we go.”

“See you later?” Dean asked, eyes never daring to leave Cas’s.

**“You better.” Without another word, the needle was plunging into Dean’s neck, and his world was fading into darkness.**

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr at hisfallencastiel.tumblr.com :)


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